


Sapphic

by squirrelfish



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Smut, past biphobia, the smut is basically fluff with sex on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrelfish/pseuds/squirrelfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne comes out as bisexual.  Arthur offers to forge a woman to spice up their love life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sapphic

It starts when Arthur walks in on her masturbating to amateur lesbian porn. It’s not as mortifying as it could have been. They’ve been doing their weird dating/career criminals with benefits thing for about a month now, so Arthur isn’t seeing any anatomy he hasn’t seen before. And really, that should be the end of it because there are plenty of perfectly heterosexual girls who watch amateur lesbian porn. But Arthur’s smarter than that and Ariadne knows he notices the horror that flashes across her face the moment he walks in—all those fears of abandonment, of misunderstanding, right there on her fucking face before she can tamper them down. It’s clear. She’s out. Things just got fucked.

Arthur looks at her a long moment, his ears reddening in a way that would have been comical juxtaposed with his stoic face at any other moment. Then he mumbles a “sorry” and leaves, closing the door primly behind him.

Ariadne exits out of the porn window like the video will kill her and covers her very-red-indeed face with her (clean) hand.

“Fuck,” she says.

This has been a deal breaker before. Her first girlfriend, Marcy, dumped her the moment the whole bi thing reared its ugly head. Marcy had been dealing with a lot of her own shit back then, and for years Ariadne had sat justifying Marcy’s fears and insecurities, because really it all made sense. But Ariadne hated the misunderstandings. She had loved Marcy—in the high school understanding of it, at least. She hadn’t wanted anyone else or to go straight or whatever.

And now…

Well. Who knows?

She and Arthur have never exactly discussed their relationship. It’s exclusive, but that could be as much convenience as anything else. Working together on every job as they do, Arthur still mentoring her on the ins and outs of dreamshare, sometimes there’s frankly no time to fuck anyone but each other. There’s affection, sure, lots of laughter and sarcasm between the sheets, and playful glances during the day, but never declarations of any sort.

Can a relationship end if it was never quite a relationship to begin with?

She runs in circles like this for quite some time before realizing the terrifying truth that she’ll have to leave the room eventually. She would rather wither into a raisin and blow away in the wind in all honesty, but that probably wouldn’t be good for her career.

Oh god. How would a break-up affect their working relationship?

She cringes as she stands from her computer chair, wiping her hand quite unladylike on her unzipped jeans. She hobbles to the bathroom attached to her room and gets herself cleaned up. New underwear, new pants.

“Fuck,” she hisses again, shooting a glare at herself in the mirror before finally leaving. She exits her bedroom to the living space of their shared temporary apartment. Arthur is on the sofa, obviously doing nothing but waiting for her.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I should have knocked.”

They never knock. She shakes her head.

“It’s fine,” she says.

Silence.

His gaze is unreadable, contemplative. He just keeps watching her face.

“Do you wanna talk?” he asks finally, because there you have it, Arthur is too smart.

She withholds a wince expertly. She wants to say no, but Arthur is sitting so openly, hands on his knees, diligent, like he’s waiting to be told what to do.

“It’s not a big deal,” she hedges. “I’m bisexual. I’m into all sorts of people. It’s not terrible or anything. I don’t know. It’s just a thing.” She’s rambling. She stops.

Arthur keeps watching her. The he slowly nods.

“Ok,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.”

And that’s it. He’s watching her as if waiting for more but she’s the one waiting for more. Where are the questions?

“Uh,” she says. “Yeah.” How eloquent.

Arthur’s gaze finally shifts away for a moment, his hands coming together to clasp.

“Would you like that sometime?” he asks. “To be with a woman?”

And there it is. Ariadne stiffens.

“To be honest, it’s not like that,” she says, rather tersely. “I mean.” Christ. “I’m fine with this, Arthur.” She gestures between them. “I don’t wanna run off with somebody I don’t know just because I need vagina or something.”

Arthur abruptly stands, smoothing back his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says urgently, avoiding her gaze. “I meant with me.”

She stares at him. “What?”

“I meant do you want to try that with me?” His ears are red again. “Sometime.”

She’s completely confused by this question until she notices that during her existential crisis in the bedroom, Arthur had taken out the PASIV and placed it on the coffee table.

“Oh,” she says eloquently.

\- - -

They have played with the PASIV before, for lack of a better word. It’s usually strictly for work, but as Arthur likes to say it would be a shame to get out of practice, so sometimes they go under and build together, great impossible things.

And sometimes they have sex, great impossible sex.

Now, standing in a living room that is much more architecturally creative than the one in reality—as the mind of two architecture nerds always seems to dictate—Ariadne is equal parts curious and nervous. To be frank, she’s in the mood for this. But she’s not so sure how Arthur is going to act, or how this will change things.

If it will change things.

She suddenly realizes that maybe nothing will change at all, and that idea is so novel it leaves her breathless.

Arthur is smiling at her, one of his “I’m such a charmer” smiles that shows off far less dimple than his laughter smiles, but which is calculated for ultimate handsomeness (or so Ariadne theorizes). He’s wearing a blazer and slacks, and Ariadne realizes her mind’s influence has probably dressed him this way. It’s her favorite outfit on him, the way the collar borders the delicate curve of his throat, inviting. His hair isn’t gelled back in its usual configuration, instead falling naturally over his face, like it does in the morning, ever so slightly messy.

She looks exactly the way she looked topside, and she isn’t sure what that means in Arthur’s mind.

“Eames does have his uses,” Arthur says, as if explaining to her another mechanic of dreamshare for work. He closes his eyes and fluidly, slowly, his features begin to change. The hard borders curve, the cheeks flush, the hair lengthens.

Then there, standing in Arthur’s blazer, is a young woman with wavy dark hair and dark eyes, plush red lips, high cheekbones. Her chest presses against the blazer’s buttons.

She’s hot.

“How’s this?” Arthur asks, his voice softer, silkier, and perhaps a bit uncertain. “I don’t exactly know what you like.”

“Only what Eames likes,” Ariadne says pointedly, grinning. She examines Arthur and realizes that Arthur is standing open again, ready to be examined.

This is for her. This is supposed to be something she likes.

“Can the chest be a little smaller?” she asks. “It’s a little twelve-year-old boy fantasy, no offense.”

Arthur complies to a more realistic dimension. He thoughtfully becomes a bit plumper as well, a bit more human.

Ariadne smiles. “And I want your dimples back,” she adds, a little shyly. 

He smiles lipstick painted lips, and the eyes beneath his lashes are deep earthy brown and web into crows feet, and there at the corner of his lips, dimples dig into softly blushed cheeks.

Ariadne’s heart thumps in the back of her head. It’s one thing to have such a beautiful woman here all to herself, but it’s another thing entirely to have Arthur, her quick as a whip Arthur, bumbling down this path with her, so eager to please.

She wants to kiss him, so she does.

Her first thought is to be impressed that his forgery remembered what lipstick tastes like. It is softer kissing a woman, particularly when the arms that wrap around her are plump and soft instead of hard-wired and lanky like Arthur’s. The kiss makes Ariadne’s face grow hot—she’s probably bright red again—and also goes straight between her legs. She already starts to feel the familiar tingle of desire, the moistness that always used to embarrass her before she clicked so well with Arthur. She can feel the light pressure of Arthur’s breasts against her own, brushing maddeningly.

When they part, Arthur’s lips are somewhat smeared, somewhat swollen, and he smiles with teeth. She can see her own Arthur in this face, an incomplete forge perhaps but… well, it’s perfect.

She’s smiling back without even realizing it.

“This was a great idea,” she proclaims, and without further ado begins to unbutton Arthur’s shirt.

They tumble to the couch moments later, shirts discarded. Ariadne is wearing a bra but of course Arthur hadn’t been, his breasts pressing perfect and round against her as they kiss, soft and wonderful. Ariadne runs her hands down Arthur’s curves to his waistband, fumbling with his zipper as he undulates against her thigh between his legs. He groans, high and breathy, lips feathering at the small hair above Ariadne’s ears, making Ariadne shiver. Her hand jerks involuntarily at Arthur’s zipper and comes to lay upon his lower belly instead, fingers dipping teasingly beneath his waistband. His breath hitches and he nips her ear, something he knows she likes damn him, and she wraps her legs around him, grinding their pelvises together to elicit another of those breathy, feminine moans. She licks his nose playfully.

“I’m guessing you’ve never had girl on girl sex before,” Ariadne says. Her heart is pounding and it must have punctuated her words. “Lemme show you the ropes.”

She unzips Arthur’s pants (finally!) and of course he isn’t wearing panties either. She slips her hand into the warmth there, curling her fingers in Arthur’s pubic hair. Arthur writhes deliciously against her, their breasts hot between their bodies. Ariadne continues lower, finally slipping one finger into the wetness so like her own. She twirls Arthur’s clitoris upon her fingertip and Arthur keens, arching into the touch, then away from it, as if unsure of which way to go. He laughs breathlessly at himself, and she kisses his smiling lips, smearing them further. She twists the same finger deep into Arthur’s heat and swallows the sound he makes, the breath from his nose hot against her cheek.

She begins a steady pace of in and out, her finger sliding easily, Arthur quivering ever so slightly around her. He’s wet like crazy. Dreams tend to be convenient.

She trails kisses down his long neck, so similar to his real one, and comes to suck on his collar bone. Meanwhile, he is having none of this pants nonsense and wiggles rather artfully out of his own, Ariadne’s hand coming to slide across his belly again, smearing his own wetness there.

“Do girls wear their clothes the whole time?” he asks sardonically, although a bit too obviously horny for it to have much effect. He raises his eyebrows at her jeans and unzips them.

If Arthur is wet, Ariadne is fucking drenched. Her pink underwear have darkened with it, and by the look that flashes through Arthur’s eyes he is quite ok with this. He helps pull the panties down to her knees, where he pauses to kiss a freckle on Ariadne’s inner thigh. She teasingly captures his face between her knees, and he takes the opportunity to plant a kiss higher up. Ariadne is trimmed where Arthur’s forge is not, and he runs his tongue along the lip of her labia teasingly. Need pulsates in her stomach and she lets out a guttural “uh.” Arthur giggles and that’s where Ariadne fucking loses it.

“I want you on your back, gorgeous,” Ariadne says, and Arthur complies, face flushed and eyes dark, the slope of his breasts inviting. Ariadne kicks her jeans and underwear halfway across the room and perches on top of him, knees around his hips. She brushes her hands over his chest, breasts catching and uncatching, nipples hard against her fingertips.

She presses their pussies together and feels a shiver ripper through Arthur’s stomach. He breathes deep and sighs, closing his eyes and stretching out languid beneath her. She swallows a lump in her throat and grinds against him. Her mouth falls open, pleasure erupting from every point they touch, catching and slipping, and Arthur mmms hotly. She starts a steady pace, grinding deeper, everything wet and wonderful. Arthur’s clitoris brushes hers and her mouth goes dry and her heart feels ready to burst. And as the pace quickens, Arthur squirms beneath her, eyes squeezed shut, panting out tiny gasps and mumbled words that Ariadne maybe should be paying attention to but she’s too intent on just… this. She molds their bodies together, chest to chest, her bra biting into her back but hardly even mattering at this point because she’s kissing him, sucking his tongue, bucking against him as the pleasure spirals sharper and sharper and goddamn she’s close, and he’s just staring at her like she’s some fucking goddess—

Then Arthur suddenly arches off the sofa with a noiseless cry, his whole beautiful body convulsing and Ariadne can feel the quivering of his orgasm all through her as her clit rubs just so and oh fuck she’s coming too, hard and amazing. She rides them through it until she’s exhausted and collapses on top of him, his arms coming up around her and his mouth peppering her with entirely-ruined lipstick kisses. Then Ariadne snakes a hand down between their bodies, because of course the real fun part of Arthur's forge is multiple orgasms.

\- - -

“I take it you don’t mind the whole bisexual thing,” she says later when they’re in reality, smoking fancy cigarettes in the kitchen with the window open.

Arthur smiles crookedly. “I don’t mind you,” he says teasingly, bumping her with his hip, but there’s a weight and truth to his words, and it settles like a protective blanket around Ariadne’s insides. A nagging, wriggling, frightened thing at the back of her mind finally sits still, and she takes a deep breath of smoke and relaxes against the kitchen counter. Exhale, and Arthur is putting an arm around her waist, simple and comfortable. She smiles and leans her head into the patch where his chest meets his armpit.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, and he plants a kiss on the top of her head which means more than anything he could have said.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from how I punnily named this "safic" in my word documents. Yeah, I'm not great with titles. But thanks very much for reading! This is my first AO3 post. Be strong, little fic.
> 
> Also: I was really trying to avoid transphobic language in this, so if any passages are skeevy regardless please let me know. Thanks.


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